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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26156041">Peace, When You Are Done</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/KassandraScarlett/pseuds/KassandraScarlett'>KassandraScarlett</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Supernatural</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Angst, Emotional Hurt, Gen, Hurt No Comfort, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Season/Series 15 Speculation</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-08-28</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-08-28</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-18 04:07:12</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Major Character Death</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>727</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26156041</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/KassandraScarlett/pseuds/KassandraScarlett</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Cas is dead. In Sam's mind, it's time to give up.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Dean Winchester &amp; Sam Winchester</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>5</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>19</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Peace, When You Are Done</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Based on the new trailer: Trouble</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>  The bunker is silent, death-quiet, as they walk in. Just Sam and Dean. Jack had flown off, unable to stick around with his newly-minted soul’s grief. And Cas… Well. There isn’t even a body for them to cremate. It’s what Cas deserved, what he would have wanted. They can’t do even that.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  So, it’s just the two of them. Again. Together-alone, us-aginst-the-world, Butch-and-Sundance.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  Unsurprisingly, Dean goes straight to the cabinets, pulls out a glass and a bottle of the Men of Letters’ whiskey. He downs two fifths in one go- one with a scrunched nose, one with reddened eyes- then places both his palms flat on the table, head bowed, breathing heavy and deliberate, no-crying-allowed level of control.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  Sam watches, blankly. It takes him a second to realize he’s swaying on the spot, and another to consciously stop. His mind is surprisingly clear, not dirt-in-water muddled like it has been for months. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  “Dean.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  “Not now.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  “Dean.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  “Damn it, not now!” Dean straightens, eyes loss-heavy and wild, hands trembling as he whirls around, a shadow of Heaven’s Righteous Man.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  “You know what we have to do,” Sam continues, cruelly direct words and honey-sweet voice.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  “No.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  “You have to,” Sam insists. The words are poison on his tongue, spilling from his lips like they can’t be stopped. “It’s the only play we’ve got.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  Dean shakes his head, anger-vehemance-denial, and steps closer. “Don’t you dare,” he spits, ugly and twisted. “Sam, don’t you-”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  “Dean, Cas </span>
  <em>
    <span>died-</span>
  </em>
  <span>” Voice breaks, cracking like the million little splinters of a shattered mirror. “-because we haven’t ended it yet. Even though we know how to. And now-” Another hitch, broken little sob building in his chest. “-it’s the least we can-”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  The punch is expectedly-unexpected. Pain blooms- like a flower, as Sam always pictured the phrase- and the second one is easier. Deflect and push, little force, defend-don’t-hurt.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  There’s blood trickling down Sam’s nose, in his mouth, and it’s smeared across Dean’s knuckles. Little brother’s blood on big brother’s hands- just like all those angels had predicted, just like Dad had fear-hoped.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  “Don’t you dare,” Dean says again, warning now. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Don’t you dare, Sammy, or else. </span>
  </em>
  <span>“You’re using Cas’ death to get me to-”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  “I’m using the truth,” Sam fights back, all stubborn-meekness, because coercion never works half as well with Dean as a plea for help does.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  Dean fumes- he’s no fool, he knows Sam’s tricks even as he falls for them. Sucker, no matter how much he may try to deny it. “Why’s it gotta be you, then, huh?” He demands. “Why not me? It’s my turn anyway, right?” It’s senseless rage and blind terror. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  Sam feels an almost-smile. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Really, Dean? Isn’t it obvious?</span>
  </em>
  <span> “My entire life… You’ve protected me. It’s the only thing that I’ve ever known that was true.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  Dean’s eyes go wide, tear-shiny. His bottom lip is quivering, jaw clenched.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  “And all my life, all I’ve wanted,” Sam goes on, need-to-be-ruthlessness in his words. “Is to do the same for you. To make you feel half as safe as you make me.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  Dean looks sick, eyes falling shut, like he can soundproof himself if he can’t see.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  “So, you see, it’s gotta be you,” Sam says. “Because you’ve always put me first, always one-upped me.” He does smile now and it’s a small thing, a stupid-brave attempt at consolation. “Like every silly game we used to play when we were kids. It’s my turn.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  Dean shakes his head. “This ain’t a prank war, Sammy,” he whispers.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  “I know.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  Eyes still closed, Dean reaches for him, fingers-splayed, seeking. Sam steps into his embrace, folds into Dean like he always has, like he’s still eight years old, snot-nosed and full of nonsense-wisdom of his own. He can feel Dean shaking, can feel the warm lips on his temple, the whiskey on his breath and the hitching motion of his chest.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  “I’m not saying now,” Sam mumbles. “I’m not saying today. But sooner or later, we won’t have a choice, Dean.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  Dean shakes his head, still obstinate, still knee-deep in the Nile.  “You know, if I ever can do it, I'll just eat a bullet right after.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  There’s no doubt in Sam’s mind, crystal-clear and sharp as the taste of blood. <em>As long as you do me first, </em>he wants to say. But he doesn’t, and lets Dean hold him through their grief.</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>My Tumblr: kassyscarlett</p></blockquote></div></div>
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